


(5+1) Five Times Vera Doesn’t Ask How He Knows That and One Time She Does

by Ellie5192



Category: Philip K. Dick's Electric Dreams (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1, Canon Compliant, F/M, Five-Times-Fic, a smidge of angst but really just fluff, and some wishful thinking, the makers wanted this episode to be hopeful so i found some hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21900259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: What it says on the tin. The spiritual sequel to my other Human Is story, “Serious Matters”, only fluffier. It’s fine if you haven’t read that one. Post-show, canon-compliant, Vera/Silas.
Relationships: Vera Herrick / Silas Herrick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	(5+1) Five Times Vera Doesn’t Ask How He Knows That and One Time She Does

**Author's Note:**

> CW: miscarriage.

**\----------0----------**

**(5+1) Five Times Vera Doesn’t Ask How He Knows That and One Time She Does**

**\----------0----------**

“The Rexorians will be expecting us to target their planet again”, says Silas. “They know we want the Hydron and they’ll be counting on us walking into a war we are not adequately prepared for”

General Olin looks at Silas for a long, hard moment. Decisions are all very clinical at this level of the government; the second he was cleared of charges, things went almost back to normal. Silas retained his rank, missions continued to be planned, and life went on. But just as Vera suspected it would, a level of suspicion follows them around. Olin may accept Silas in the boardroom, but he doesn’t keep him as close as he used to, and they’re always careful to never overstep.

“What makes you say that?” says Olin, his arms crossed.

“They killed almost our entire crew and planted a spy in Matthews”, says Silas, and he sounds so damn convincing. “We had to execute one of our own to ensure our safety, General. I would bet my life they’ll try that trick again, and worse if given the chance, and this time they’ll be ready for us”

The entire room judiciously ignores the unspoken, awkward truth that Silas himself was also accused of being an infiltrator, and only survived because his rank afforded him a trial.

Vera stares straight ahead at Olin, and does not look at Silas. Across the table Yaro watches her, and Vera ignores her too. They’re on better terms now, but any trust they had was broken that day, and Vera won’t give her the satisfaction of her attention if she doesn’t have to. They work well together as colleagues, dedicated to running missions, but Yaro is not her friend anymore and Vera won’t apologise for wanting to save her husband, changed man or not, metamorph or not.

“As far as we know, metamorphs are not common on Rexor”, says Olin.

“But where there’s one there could be many”, Silas counters.

“The Rexorians don’t have the technology to counter warhead drones”, says Yaro. “But as the Colonel says, they could easily employ guerrilla tactics”

“So what do you propose?” asks Olin, still staring at Silas where he stands, his arms behind his back at attention.

“Another planet”, says Silas. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Our last mission to Rexor IV secured enough Hydron reserves to last us eighteen months”, says Yaro, tapping away at a screen. “I suggest we canvas our options in another quadrant”

“Director Herrick”, calls Olin, turning to Vera. “What options do we have?”

If Vera is surprised they are entertaining the idea, she doesn’t show it. “The reserves give us enough time to survey the Gamma quadrant, which we haven’t been able to reach for almost two years”

“Because the Gamma quadrant is twice the distance of Rexor IV, which was difficult enough to reach”, says Silas, playing devil’s advocate. Where once he would have been shutting down her idea in front of everyone, almost gleefully enjoying undermining her, now his tone is merely factual, pointing out the counter-argument without judgement or agenda.

“It is”, she concedes. “But scans suggest very few planets in the quadrant support life”

A murmur goes around the room. The buffer that eighteen months’ worth of Hydron provides is a welcomed relief, as is the thought of not having to walk into all-out war for the sake of more. But more than that, Gamma quadrant is known to have other vital minerals for the farming sector. They aren’t critically low on those supplies, but to boost them is only a good thing for food production, which would appease the growing unrest at government Levels Three and Four, where poverty is rapidly creeping in.

“So we’d have the run of the place to ourselves”, says Olin, obviously getting behind the idea. If he can be responsible for leading some peaceful supply runs, it will greatly improve his own political standing.

“Potentially”, says Vera. “At the very least, we wouldn’t have to worry about engaging in battle just to get the resources we need”

She is very careful not to push her agenda too hard anymore. She is known for advocating negotiations and humanitarian approaches, but Terra has been in a state of martial law for over an entire generation. Men like Olin are respected because they make the hard calls, and men like Silas are decorated for carrying out those orders without question. Vera is conscious not to push her luck, given the lingering suspicion that still follows her and Silas like a bad smell.

“I would prefer not to lead more men to their deaths if I can avoid it, General”, says Silas, his voice low and grave. It’s no exaggeration to say his service record speaks for itself, but whether the old Silas would have said the same thing is uncertain. Probably not, she thinks. Although he was always deeply dedicated to his crew, he was equally accepting of his own death in a way that used to unnerve her. At times he even seemed to be downright inviting it; daring the universe to finally kill him in battle, his one true honour.

These days it seems he has more to live for.

Olin nods, and takes a moment to consider it in his mind. “How long would surveys take?” he asks Yaro, who is now controlling a display board full of Gamma quadrant schematics.

“About two months to get drones in the area, collect samples, return and analyse them”

“And if Gamma has enough of what we need?”

“We can have a crew there and back with the resources within six months”

Vera knows they will continue to draw up battle plans for Rexor IV in the meantime, as a contingency. She’s been around this government long enough to know they won’t abandon the idea of a war just because it’s the more difficult option. She only hopes Gamma has enough of what they need to make the idea of fighting less appealing than taking the extra time for peace.

“Very well”, says Olin. “We send the drones”

The room shuffles in that familiar way whenever a plan is being decided.

“But in the meantime, Colonel, I expect you to continue plans in case we have to return to Rexor IV”

“Yes, General”, he says. Only Vera notices the way his eyes look dark at the thought. She will not ask him how he feels about that, the thought of returning to his home planet and killing his own kind, because he is not that creature any longer. He is Silas Herrick, by his own choice, and he is human, and he will fight for humanity above anyone else. She won’t ask him how he feels about that, or what he might expect to find if he gets there, but she truly hopes it won’t come to war.

The trial seems to have halted some of the more aggressive agitators in the higher ranks. People have been living closer and closer to the edge for decades, their world dying around them piece by piece. Once the fear set in, certain courses of action felt inevitable, like the world would continue to spiral down a hole of suspicion and ruthlessness until they eventually started picking off innocents just for the way they talked, the way they looked. If the trial taught Terra anything, it was a little more prudence.

“I expect a progress report in a week”, says Olin to Vera. “I want to know where we stand with Gamma quadrant as an option”

“Yes General”, she replies.

She’ll make it an option, come hell or high water.

**\----------0----------**

“You’re home late”, says Silas, as she wanders into the kitchen. She already told him earlier in the day that she wouldn’t be home for dinner, but she’s still somewhat surprised to see him awake at this hour. There’s a plate with a towel over it waiting on the bench, which she knows will be for her.

“There was an issue with equipment failure in one of the testing facilities”, she says as she puts the plate in the oven to warm. “It took three engineers five hours just to make sure it wasn’t going to explode”

“And how was an equipment failure your problem at this time of night?” he asks, in reference to her rank being far above such mundane logistical issues. She smiles at him. It’s nice that he defends her position these days, instead of deriding it, but sometimes he is still such a soldier, failing to understand the minutiae of her role and responsibilities as Director.

“It’s for the sample collection process for your mission to Gamma”, she replies with a wry smirk. Their joint project. The rockets are going to send the drones up in less than a week and she has yet to confirm that the collection pods will maintain the integrity of the samples. It probably _is_ below her rank to be worried about the engineering, but she has a vested interest in seeing this particular mission go well, and they’ve been prepping for three weeks already. She’s barely been home in that time, determined to see this mission succeed. At least the engineering problems were marginally more interesting than the reports from Agriculture on the exact soil compositions they require for optimal food output. She’s never cared less about salinity in her life.

“Well in that case, carry on”, he says with aplomb, and then turns back to his plate of – _are those tomatoes_ , she thinks to herself with a grin. A thought strikes her and she pushes away from the bench.

“I should go water my plants”, she mutters. “It’s been weeks”

“Already done”

She stops and blinks several times, long and slow, before turning on her heal to face him.

“You watered my plants?”

He looks up innocently, though she can tell from the smirk in the corner of his mouth that he knows perfectly well he has shocked her.

“I’ve been watering them while you’ve been working on this project. They must have slipped your mind”

She blinks slowly again and tips her head. “They did”

“I figured as much. But never fear, the plants are still alive”

Silas never had any clue about botany in all the time she’s known him – he wouldn’t know a succulent from an herb, except maybe to stop himself from stepping on one in battle. He never minded that she kept them, but he never showed any interest in them at all; they were hers, in her own little sanctuary. Vera turns around and keeps walking into the garden. She pulls over a stool and takes a look in each terrarium in turn, poking her finger in the soil once or twice. For each little plant the conditions are perfect, their leaves bright green, their flowers bold.

She returns to the kitchen silently and stands by where he’s sitting, staring at him. “You watered my plants”

He smirks, but doesn’t look at her. “A simple _thank you_ would be fine”, he says.

She wants to make a joke – _who are you and what have you done with my husband_ – but under the circumstances she thinks it could fall badly. They aren’t there yet. Maybe one day they will be, but not just yet. He’s a bit surprised when instead she leans down into his space, her hand cupping his face, and kisses him soundly. “Thank you”, she whispers.

He smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything else, just spears another baby tomato on his fork and pops it in his mouth. Vera collects her now-warm plate from the oven and brings it over to the table to sit across from him, and they eat supper in silence.

**\----------0----------**

Vera startles awake as a shout rings loud in the room. Beside her, Silas is throwing back his blankets, the mutterings of a man half-asleep giving way to ragged breathing and a single choked sob. He sits up and away from her, his hands gripping the edge of the bed while he takes several breaths in through his nose and out his mouth. His back, when she tentatively reaches out her hand, is sweaty. 

He flinches at her touch and she pulls her hand away, sitting up slowly behind him and shuffling forward so that her front is almost touching his back, but not quite. 

“Silas”, she whispers. “What is it, are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer her, but his breath catches, so he heard her question. She doesn’t touch him again, but she quickly recognises this for what it is; a nightmare, likely fuelled by a memory, his mind overcome with everything he has seen and done in service to his planet. 

He used to have them all the time when he was younger and the battles were less frequent. Terra hasn’t always been in such a terrible state, and being sent to war for supplies was a rare and noble thing, not the daily business they’ve both become so used to in the years since. Each time, he came home a little more haunted than before, and each time she tried to reach out to him only for him to push her further and further away. She nursed him through the effects of missions, sitting by his side and bringing him food, but it was always so clinical, his pride never quite letting her in close enough to see how much his own actions tormented him.

She is certain that his cruelty, his viciousness, was born in the memory of those battles, hard-won and casualty-heavy, though he staunchly refused to avail himself of any help afterwards, least of all hers.

Vera hasn’t faced this type of crisis with him since he changed - she hasn’t seen him in the throes of a nightmare in so long she forgot what she’s supposed to do. So she places her right hand very gently, very slowly, on his right shoulder and waits for him to make the next move. She expects him to stand up, move away, perhaps leave the room and disappear for the rest of the night, and if he does she won’t blame him. She only wants to help, whatever he needs, and hopes that some of what he needs is her. 

Silas surprises her when he reaches his hand around to rest on top of hers.

They stay sat like that for a long moment as his breathing calms down and his skin cools, and they do not move closer or further away. After a while, when it’s clear he isn’t going to leave, Vera rests her forehead against the back of his neck, right on the ridge where his neck meets his shoulder. His hand, still holding hers, picks it up and wraps it around his chest so that she’s partly embracing him, and they stay like that for a long time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks him.

“No”

He stands up and slides away from her and walks out of the room without looking at her, and she lets him go with worry in her eyes and confusion on her brow. This Silas feels very familiar, and it scares her. She is contemplating following him when he returns with a glass of water and his face still dripping from where he splashed it. He still doesn’t meet her eye, but he did come back, so she scoots over to her side of the bed to give him room and practically deflates with relief when he slides back under the sheet beside her. She follows his lead, lying back down when he does, staying on her side to watch his face as he stares into the dark above.

Silas was never one to confide in her, but she had hoped this new man would at least acknowledge that she was trying to help. Still, he stayed. And that’s something.

A long while later his voice is rough in the dark, waking her from her light dosing. “I hate some of the choices I’ve had to make”, he says.

There is such anguish in his voice, but there is resignation too. They are both defined by the roles they play in this life: he a soldier, her a mission director who oversees him into the fray. “I know why I made them”, he adds. “But I hate them”

Vera breaths deeply into the night. She takes the reassurance of his loyalty to Terra for what it is. She tries not to judge him against the justifications he used to readily spit at her whenever she argued there was a different way.

“You’re a brave man”, she says to him. That fact has always mattered to him, and still does. That fact has always been true. “You do the best you can under the circumstances”

She hears him sigh. “I don’t know how to talk about it”, he says. Even now, he refuses to use the psychology services because he doesn’t want to be detected as a metamorph. This Silas inherited all the problems of the old with none of the solutions, and she feels sorry for him, because she’s not much help either. Vera remembers the tumultuous mix of emotions she used to feel when he would go away – relief that he was gone, guilt over feeling relieved, anger that she should feel guilty for a man so cruel, sadness that he might never return. If she was such a mess being left at home, it’s hard to fathom what he went through in the thick of the conflict.

In the dark his face turns towards her. “But I don’t want to shut you out, either”

It’s the only consolation he can give her. It could be that his trauma will creep back over him, that his inability to seek help will cause problems later, but his mind got a fresh start when the metamorph took him over and he wants to be her partner again. He used to claim her as “ _his_ wife”, an extension of himself, an entity against whom people couldn’t speak poorly without it reflecting on him too. A thing to be controlled. Now, he claims her as “his _wife_ ”, the word itself as sacred as the bond it represents. They were always supposed to be on each other’s side, and lately they have been again; he doesn’t want to lose that, no matter how many memories haunt him, and she thinks that could make all the difference.

“I’m here, Silas”, she whispers, sliding her hand across the bed to hold his in the dark. “I’m not going anywhere”

“No”, he replies. His voice is still sad. “I’m the one that leaves”

Leaves her bed, leaves her company, all but leaves this marriage in everything but name.

“You’re not going anywhere either”, she says to him firmly. She won’t let him, not now she got him back. Not when they are building a future together on a stronger foundation than they ever had before. If the metamorph chose to become Silas Herrick completely, she chose to love him as Silas completely; unrepentant and unconditional, except that they never again become as distant as the day he left for Rexor.

“Promise?” he whispers.

“Promise”

He raises her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, and then lands both their hands on his chest without letting go, her fingers squeezing against his. They fall back to sleep with his hand gripping hers tight, and she doesn’t have the heart to pull away from him until they wake again in the morning.

**\----------0----------**

_“Go get dressed up and then come with me. I have a surprise for you”_

It’s not something Vera talks about, not since she was a girl. Music is something she never has the time for; a hobby for the lower classes, except the occasional lullaby or humming in the shower. Even Silas’ beloved gramophone hasn’t been played in what feels like years – all his records are soft, and appropriate for background noise at a dinner party they never once hosted. Anyone with any kind of skilled job is too busy working hard in their field to ensure humanity’s survival; they don’t have time for something as ridiculous as a music concert or practicing an instrument. If those people are out there, Vera hasn’t met them.

Sometimes she hates her planet. Hates the state they’ve got themselves into, hates the way they treat each other, hates the levels of injustice that exist in a world that has forgotten its humanity in so many ways. Sometimes she longs to throw off all expectations and disappear into a part of life that would let her sing for days.

She knows that’s not possible. If she’s going to make a difference it has to be right from where she’s standing.

Vera remembers a conversation she and Silas had, just after they were married, when they were still getting to know each other. She told him how she used to sneak into the Maze when she was young and walk around the arts precinct, finding dark corners where exciting shows were played by the most exotic looking creatures. She was a good student, a dutiful citizen, but those explorations were her outlet for the stress and the pressure of being born of a higher class. The sound of drums humming through her chest, the scratch and twang of string instruments she couldn’t name, echo in her mind even years later.

_“Go get dressed up and then come with me. I have a surprise for you”_

And so Vera put on her black dress, her coat over the top so he couldn’t see it; she took his arm and let him lead her down into the Maze, and now she stands in front of a door in a dank little corner, and behind it she can feel that familiar beat. For all her venturing down to the Maze for other kinds of exploits, she hasn’t been back to the music in so many years she forgot what it feels like to feel the floor vibrate beneath her feet.

She turns to Silas with a look of disbelief, her mouth popped open in shock.

She doesn’t know how to ask him how he could possibly remember this secret love of hers, and so she says nothing, just follows him when he holds his arm out to her and gestures her forward. She pushes the door open and the music hits her like a wall, the pulse and thrum of bodies moving to its beat filtering all around them as they walk into the belly of the club. There are flutes of green alcohol being served at one side, and on a stage is a band playing something earthy, something with grit. Something she can grind to in the low light of the cavern.

Silas walks her to the bar and holds up two fingers. Two small shots of something bright blue are placed in front of him. He hands her one and she follows his lead as if in a trance, the two of them clinking glasses and gulping it in one hit. It burns all the way down in the best possible way, and she holds his gaze as he watches her face for her reaction. He seems a little too proud of the fact she doesn’t flinch.

“I used to come here during the Academy”, he says into her ear.

She pulls away with a look of surprise. She never knew that.

Vera tries to picture it, a young Silas full of ambition and drive, indulging in a night out with some of the boys to blow off steam between classes and drills. She’s seen pictures of him when he was that age, well before she knew him, and it changes how she imagines him in her mind’s eye. She makes space in her heart for this new vision of Silas, not for the first time.

But Vera has never been slow to catch up, and she decides to embrace whatever the hell he’s doing for one night. She smirks at him as she walks to the coat check, and watches his face as she peels back her coat to reveal the dress underneath. She takes great pride in the way he noticeably swallows as his eyes take in her body.

Then she takes his hand and leads him onto the dance floor. After all, he started this.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks, the two of them barely seeing each other. Silas was sent to oversee a scout mission on the borders of the settlement to ensure rebels out in the desert aren’t causing problems. Vera is overseeing the Gamma project as the drones collect samples on far away planets and prep to return to Terra. He told her he wanted to spend the night together. She had no idea it would be anything like this when she agreed to be home a little earlier.

Vera guides him into the throng of people so they can find their anonymity in the middle of these crazy characters; reaches up to her hair and pulls out the large clip holding it all in place. She smirks when he swallows again as it goes tumbling over her back, shaking her head a little to release it.

“Vera”, he mutters, as she steps right into his space and starts to move. It’s a slow rock to the grimy beat of the drums. She doesn’t dance the way she used to as a girl – all wild arms and fast feet, her head down and hair flying. She keeps it slower for his sake, because as far as she’s aware he doesn’t dance, and they don’t want to draw attention to themselves anyway. She simply sways her hips and knocks against him now and then, and his hands land at her waist and he smiles at her antics.

Instead of stepping back or pulling her into a dark corner, Silas shocks her all over again. He takes one of her hands in his and wraps his other hand around her back to pull her close, and then they sway to the beat in a mockery of a waltz. It’s not really dancing; she would never expect such a thing from him, even now. But he sways with her and holds her close as his eyes take in their surrounds – the half-naked bodies and people from different classes of their society – and always his gaze lands back on her. There’s a heat in it she has come to recognise.

He leans his head down next to hers so their cheeks are resting together, and she feels him take a deep breath in. Her body leans fractionally closer to him.

“You’re having fun”, he accuses. She can feel his smile against her skin.

She has never told him what she used to get up to down here in the Maze on those nights she stayed late, and she doesn’t think she ever will.

“Well, you did want me to let my hair down”, she volleys back. His smile turns into a smirk.

They stay for a long while – drink a flute of whatever green alcohol is being served and down another blue shot; sway slower and faster to the music, as around them the grinding changes from dancing to something else. And then she takes his hand and leads him to the coat check to get her coat and wrap herself back up, the two of them making their way out of the Maze and back to their real life.

When they tumble into bed that night, hands a bit fumbly and ears ringing, she laughs and lets him rock to the beat of the music, their usual pace forgotten for a moment.

**\----------0--------------**

She wakes to the feeling of his cool hand wiping her brow. Her throat feels too scratchy to even moan at him in askance, but he sees her eyes crack open and leans down.

“Hey there sleepy head”, he says. His voice is so gentle that Vera can’t help but try and smile. She can smell something warm and fragrant, and looks around next to the bed. There is a bowl on her side-table with a spoon sticking out.

“How long?” she asks. Her throat really is too sore to speak yet. The last thing she remembers is being wheeled into their home and put into bed by the doctor.

“You’ve been unconscious for two full days”, he says. She can hear the worry in his voice.

She goes to move up in bed and he wraps his arms around her to help, whispering _careful_ s and _up you go_ es like she’s a child. Her entire body still aches to her bones, and her skin feels sticky like she’s been sweating through the bed, which – given how sick she’s been – she probably has. The thought makes her immediately upset that she’s not well enough have a bath yet. Her hair is greasy against her scalp and she hates it.

Silas helps her settle against the headboard, and then seats himself on the mattress next to her hip. He picks up the bowl and starts stirring it to get some of the heat out. It is rare for them to be in this position; in the past it was always Vera tending to his wounds and ailments, never the other way around.

“I made you some broth”, he says. “The doctor suggested a veggie broth, but I know you prefer bone”

The comment catches her completely off-guard for a couple of reasons, once her brain starts firing enough to register what he said. First, animal product is incredibly rare and regulated, so much so that not even the Maze can provide black market cooking bones. Silas must have received permission from very high up indeed. And second, the last – the _only_ – time she can remember ever having bone broth was just over two years into their marriage, a period of time she almost let herself forget for the grief it inspires.

Vera was young when they were paired; a decade younger than him, although plenty of Terrarian girls marry in their teens and she was at least a bit older than that. She was already an expert in the Intelligence field and he was a decorated Captain, earmarked for an illustrious combat career as he marched steadily towards forty. When the procreation mandate came into effect, Captain Herrick was in want of a wife from good stock, someone worthy of standing on his arm as his star rose through the ranks, and so Vera was chosen to fulfil the role of Mrs Herrick, because she was twenty-seven and as yet unwed. Although not particularly interested in marriage, she gladly accepted the honour in the name of the State, and together they became one of the most recognisable couples of Level One.

That was twenty years ago.

Her first pregnancy ended almost as soon as she knew about it, which was not unusual; such issues were why procreation plans were enforced under martial law, after all.

Her second nearly killed her. 

A late-stage miscarriage turned into an infection, which got into her blood - it took them weeks to get her back to full health, and in that time Silas steeled himself against the possibility of losing her. When she was finally recovered, it was to the news that she would never be able to have children.

Vera remembers Silas in those days being present and yet absent – physically by her side, but divorced from the reality of her condition and their shared future. He wasn’t even angry; that was the part she remembers the most; he was resigned, maybe even sad, but he wasn’t upset that they couldn’t fulfil the purpose of their marriage. He was forty by then and newly promoted to Major; she was thirty and working as Assistant Director of missions. They were both so focussed on their careers that he didn’t see it as a great loss to not be a father, only as an opportunity to dedicate himself fully to his service.

Vera was left to mourn on her own, for a future she didn’t particularly want, and yet that was taken from her without her consent. She’s not sure they would have made good parents, but a part of her had been excited to try.

The last time she asked for bone broth instead of vegetable, she was lying in this exact bed a day after being released from the infirmary, and he had obliged her without fanfare.

She is still too sick, and far too fatigued, to let herself ponder too long on him bringing up that memory. She lets him feed her a few spoonfuls of soup, relishing the relief it brings to her parched throat and dry mouth. She tells him she desperately wants a bath, and huffs when he tells her that he’ll help her later if she sleeps a bit more first.

He is so patient with her; firm yet gentle, making sure she follows his instructions without trying to be too independent. He knows she would try and take care of herself if left to her own devices, and he won’t have it, her face more pale than normal, her skin clammy.

“You’re still beautiful”, he says to her with a smile, tucking her messy, sticky hair behind her ear.

“Liar”, she grumbles back. He just laughs at her, kisses her forehead, and then stands up, taking the bowl with him. Her eyes are already drooping again, and she doesn’t fight him on it when he tells her to lie back down and sleep some more.

“I’ll let the doctor know you woke up”, he says. But she’s already adrift.

**\----------0--------------**

“So, how does it work?” she asks him one day over breakfast.

Silas reading a report on his comms unit, preparing for a debrief on the latest planet survey they conducted in Gamma. If they get the go-ahead for this next mission, he’ll be gone for a month to collect agricultural mineral reserves. They’re expecting the survey to say there were no carbon life forms on the planet, which means they won’t be stealing from any other races to get the resources, which is a relief. Still, beings such as Rexorians are energetic, not carbon-based, and so they’re taking the time to check for those options too.

Most of Gamma has yielded great results, and in one instance Silas managed to negotiate a peaceful trade deal with a group of beings that didn’t need the mineral they were mining, which lead to another commendation. As mission Director, the entire Gamma quadrant project has become Vera’s pet; they let her open a sub-department dedicated only to its surveying and results. When Silas was awarded for his work at the ceremony, he offered – insisted – that she stand up as he acknowledged her leadership of the team, and they received the applause from their peers together.

A year ago they were on the brink of mutually-assured destruction. Since then they’ve managed to rebuild Terra’s resources without any loss of life, and there can be no doubt that Silas and Vera are at the forefront of that initiative.

The distance of the longer missions is hard, sometimes, but it’s a worthy trade.

“How does what work?” he asks, flicking his eyes to hers and then back to his page.

“How does it work being two people at once?”

He freezes and slowly turns his head to her. His hand flicks off his comms unit without thinking. It’s any wonder his mouth doesn’t outright drop open.

As a general rule, they do not discuss the fact he has a different name, a different life, is a different man inhabiting the history and body of Silas Herrick. It has been long enough now that it doesn’t really matter. His memories are all still there; the wealth of his experience survived, without any of the psychological trauma that accompanied it, or the cruelty that followed. But likewise, the empathy of understanding what it’s like to be colonised is there too, and these days he advocates for her more humane ideas because he knows on a visceral level what is at stake.

“I’m not”, he finally says. “I’m Silas”

He’s almost child-like in the sincere, wide-eyed response he gives her. Which is, she realises, exactly as he sees it. He is Silas, whether because he feels like the man before or because she named him that, and neither of them can unring the bell of covering that secret for each other.

“You don’t miss being the old you?” she asks him. She’s often wondered about it, but never had a way of putting it into words; all things Silas aside, this creature had a life before he melded with her husband, and she wonders what it must have looked like that he chose to give up everything – even his name – for the sake of something altogether different.

“No. Never”, he replies. She knows he means it. “I’m still me, and I’m him. And he is me now”

She looks confused and intrigued, but she likes that he has no designs to want to be someone else or leave. For the longest time metamorphs were believed to be purely evil, invading bodies to wreak havoc. Not once did they consider perhaps there were other reasons for their existence, or that a metamorph might be content to simply live as its host without any further agenda. For Vera, it’s hard to fathom being in the body of another person and accepting yourself as them. But what is a person but a collection of memories – an amalgam of experiences lived.

“Metamorphs…” he continues, eyes focussed in the distance, “take over a person completely – inherit everything about them”

“I know”, she says. And she does. Because he is her husband Silas, perhaps reborn to a degree, but still him in all the ways that matter. They have come back to each other, a true partnership, a loving marriage like she always hoped she would find, but he is also a Colonel and a leader, still thinks in empirical rather than her theoretical spaces, still holds his pride as important to him. Still fights when he has to, and saves his men whenever he can. “But surely you had a life before, too”

He shakes his head so infinitesimally he probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, but she notices all the same.

“All my memories… I feel them as my own”

And she knows he’s talking about memories of her, too. It took her a while to be confident of it, but by now Vera knows that the love he has for her comes from a combination of their long shared history and his newfound appreciation for what it all means. Silas must have loved her before, somewhere under the rubble. He just wouldn’t – or perhaps couldn’t – show her in any way that mattered. Without the burdens on his shoulders, this Silas can reach out and hold her tight. If this is a long-con to infiltrate their society and break it from within, he’s doing a mighty fine job of convincing her of his faithfulness. Of convincing them all, with the missions he leads and successes they yield.

“Were you a soldier?” she asks. It’s another question she often wondered about. He doesn’t strike her as one.

“We all fought. We had to. I never really planned to leave Rexor. I just didn’t want to stay”

So not an organised military, then, but rather a guerrilla force just trying to defend their own planet, and in the process he took the only exit he could find. The body of one of the beings invading them, escaping them. She almost has a grudging respect for that. What kind of life it must be, she reasons, to simply exist and fight and continue existing, without any love, without hope of something different, without any of the enjoyments he finds here in their life. Food, and sex, and the thrill of planning military operations for the betterment of their often-broken world. The companionship he has with her.

“Would you leave here, if you could?” she asks him, already knowing his answer.

“No”

He gives her a very small smile, tension leaving his body. She returns it.

“I like the company too much”

Her smile widens and she reaches out her hand over the table to land on top of his. He flips his so he can curl his fingers around her hand and squeeze.

“I love you too, Silas”, she says to him. She doesn’t want to push the point, so she leaves it alone. She has all the answers she needs for now. They stay still for a moment, enjoying it, the conversation clearly at an end. “Now finish reading your report. You’ve got an early meeting”

He takes his hand back with a smirk and mockingly salutes her with two fingers to his temple, then flicks his comms unit back on and keeps reading.


End file.
